


So, You've Adopted a Fruit

by Nejinee



Series: 2 lovestruck idiots and a dog [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Cleaning, Comfort, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Food Issues, Humor, M/M, Pets, Recovery, Retail Therapy, Romance, Smut, Softness, references to past animal abuse, smoochy kissing and stuff, supersoldiers vs. the 21st century
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-01 02:49:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15133457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nejinee/pseuds/Nejinee
Summary: Steve knows that Bucky's trying his best to stay whole in this new modern world.Then Bucky finds a struggling little scraggly creature and decides immediately to wrap it up in his open heart and take it home.It’s a bit bizarre seeing a former assassin taking to something so small and helpless, but to Steve it all makes sense.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone and welcome! This fic promises to be soft and sweet and mildly sexy in the end, but I do want to warn about a little detail: this fic does reference past animal cruelty, but not explicitly or in any real detail and it's more of an observation-after-the-fact sort of thing. Just in case that is upsetting to you. I know we all love the lil' animals and such. 
> 
> Thank you to Lisa-in-the-sky for hearing me blab idiotically about this thing and for proofing it for moi. A true gem. <3
> 
>  
> 
> Other than that, enjoy!

“I’m not arguing with you, Buck,” Steve said, a hint of exasperation colouring his words. “I just don’t agree.”

The last few rays left over from the sun setting cast long, sweeping shadows as they walked.

“So we what, agree to disagree?” Bucky said, swinging their packed leftovers in his right hand. The Chinese buffet was always enamoured by them and their epic appetites, which always led to Steve and Bucky not only being fed to the gills, but being plied with takeout, which they naturally, always accepted. “You know how much I love that.”

“Look, all I’m saying, is that if people want to stand on street corners talking about whatever religion they want–”  
“Blaring from a mic and speakers, you mean. Blaring at folks who're only out to buy some damn eggs and not wanting to get Jesus crap barked at their faces,” Bucky interjected.

“Well, what if it were a Jew? Or Sikh?” Steve said.

“You tell me when has that ever happened, Steve?” Bucky glared at his partner and best friend.

Steve rolled his eyes. “Freedom of speech is–”

Bucky stopped, “Wait, shut up.”

“Freedom _of speech_ –” Steve gritted out, determined.

“Did you hear that?” Bucky had paused, the streetlamp a few paces behind them throwing his face into dark shadow.

Steve’s mouth flapped, but he did stop and listen. “What?” he said.

Bucky frowned, his eyebrows furrowing together in that way that flipped Steve’s inner poet on full blast. “I heard something.”

Steve looked around the deserted Brooklyn side street. No one was about at this hour on a Sunday; at least, not anyone up to any good. Only, perhaps, sated super soldiers coming back from their weekly feast at the one Chinese restaurant that didn’t overprocess their food with too many strange additives.

“That!” Bucky whispered, turning about in place. His shoes crunched over gravel. The houses nearby were dark, only a couple dumpsters separating them from the corner convenience store by a few feet.

Steve waited.

“I don’t hear anything,” he murmured. He paused.

Then, he did hear it.

A faint whine.

“Oh!” Steve breathed, pointing, “Down there, that way.”

Bucky twisted and walked along the tarmac that marked the end of the residential area of the street. He walked slowly, cautiously and quietly as only he could. “What is it?” he murmured, like Steve would somehow know.

“You think it’s a person? A kid?” Steve said. Maybe someone got beaten up in the space between houses; And there was Bucky, looking down alleys and behind boxes for injured waifs and society’s detritus. Would he ever learn?

“Oh no,” Bucky breathed.

“What, what?” Steve said, coming up behind him. Bucky was crouched down, right beside one of the massive garbage dumpsters. It was backed up against the convenience store fence.

Bucky crouched lower. “Shit, Steve, there’s a little guy in here. Wait, lemme get my hand…”

Bucky thrust the takeout bag at Steve, who grabbed at it before it hit the ground. Bucky pressed his metal hand to the side of the dumpster and scooched in closer, tucking his flesh arm under the gap between dumpster and wall.

A small sound emanated from there, a faint whine.  
Steve couldn’t see. “What is it?” he asked.

“He’s stuck,” Bucky grunted. “Can’t...pull him out. Wait, lemme get my hand under him. He’s not touching the ground.” Bucky grunted in frustration. “I don’t want him to fall.”

Steve watched as Bucky held his right hand in place, hovering under the repulsively stinky metal and wood, then with his left, he shoved at the dumpster. It creaked and groaned, and probably weighed at least half a ton, but Bucky moved it easily, like it weighed nothing. Steve heard one of the rusted wheels shriek as the metal gave way.  
A sharp little yip came out from the gap and Bucky gasped, his hand lunging out to catch whatever it was that was now no longer sandwiched between wall and dumpster.  
He carefully sat back on his heels and Steve could finally see what had caused this little detour.

“Oh…” Steve said gently.  
A filthy, matted creature, barely the size of Bucky’s hand, was lying on its belly, tiny, stringy legs dangling. Its oversized head and small body were covered in a disgusting layer of what looked like black grease and filth, its eyes crusted shut.

“Poor baby,” Bucky breathed. “It’s barely alive.”

Steve’s heart all but clenched, not just at the little creature’s predicament, but at Bucky’s soft tone.  
“Hey, help me get outta this,” Bucky grunted, holding the animal in his right hand while unzipping his hoodie with his left. He shook his arm, trying to be free of the sleeve.

Steve helped him, balancing the Chinese takeout as well as he could while wrangling Bucky’s hoodie loose. Bucky shifted the animal to his metal hand, then shucked off the hoodie properly. He scooped it up and wrapped the little creature in the soft cotton and fleece.

Bucky stood up, holding the ball of animal and fabric in his arms like a baby.

He glanced up at Steve as if daring him to call him out for the unsafe, possibly rabid animal-touching. Steve pulled out his phone. “Nearest vet is a ten minute walk…” he swiveled on his heel and pointed, “That way.”  
“It’s open this late?” Bucky frowned down at the animal.

“Says ’til 4am, so yeah,” Steve murmured. He eyed the bag of takeout food in his hand. “I don’t really want this, do you?”

“Nah,” Bucky said. “Kill it.”

So Steve threw it in the dumpster. Maybe some other small animals would find it and be better off.

 

* * *

 

 

The vet was a small clinic, more like a house, really. It had a wooden staircase inside that appeared to lead upstairs to employee-only areas, or perhaps labs. There was a small reception area where two college students took calls on everything from ‘my rabbit won’t blink’ to ‘leaking orifice, help!’

Steve sat with Bucky on the bench provided.

The place was tidy and cozy. Pictures of dogs and cats were framed all over the walls, and there was a water cooler in the corner with paper cone cups. A woman with a big, fat cat  came out of one of the rooms earlier, she had glared at anything and everyone, matched by her cat’s expression.

Food bags and supplies hung from one wall. Steve wondered at the variations, from food for elderly dogs and puppies, to snacks for allergic dogs, and cats that need help with digestion.

Neither receptionist had blinked an eye at them, but the redhead had called one of the vet technicians to come set up a room for them, post haste.

“Uh, sirs?” a vet tech (as they seemed to be called) in green scrubs said, coming out of one of the rooms. “If you could please wait in here?”

Bucky rose, gently cradling what could have been his firstborn child swaddled in a grey hoodie.

The room was a tight fit, with a tall metal table in the middle. The tech laid out a small blanket that was patterned with bones and paw prints. “The vet should be along in a moment,” she smiled at them and hustled out.

“It’s pretty busy here,” Steve murmured. “Website says they have a rotation of vets available.”

Bucky seemed reluctant to put the animal down. “Do you think he’ll be okay?” Bucky said. “He’s barely breathing.”

Steve chewed his lip, eyeing the small creature with the dirty black face and the small snuffles.

Someone cleared their throat. Both men turned and looked down at a petite Asian woman who could be between the ages of twenty and forty. She pushed her glasses up her nose and shut the exam room door behind her. “Hello, my name is Dr. Wen.”

“Hi,” Steve said, “Uh, I’m Steve, this is Bucky.”

She nodded, not showing any recognition or interest in who they were, “And what do we have here? Nancy said you found a stray?” she said, moving to the other side of the metal table.

Bucky didn’t want to hand the thing over.

“Buck, you gotta let her take a look,” Steve murmured.

Bucky scowled, sizing the tiny woman up, as if she was a danger. Probably deciding that the answer was a definite “probably not”, he then carefully lowered his pile of fluff to the table and unraveled the precious parcel.

“Ohhh…” Dr Wen murmured, leaning in to inspect the creature. “You poor little thing,” she said. She laid out the little creature on its side. Steve still couldn’t quite figure what it was. It didn’t have a long tail, but then cats did have nubby tails when they were small, didn’t they?

Dr Wen pressed her stethoscope to its chest.

The fur was wet and sticky, as if from molasses or tar.

“Hey, Doc,” Bucky said, “You think he’s gonna be okay?”

She was looking in its ears, then feeling over its body. “Hmmm,” she hummed. “Well, firstly, she’s female.”

“Oh,” Bucky breathed, “Right.”

“Secondly,” Dr Wen said, gently palpating the animal’s belly. “She must be about eight weeks old, but very undernourished.”

The doc carefully inspected the animal’s teeth and eyes, cooing gently when the animal whined. “Oh, she has badly infected eyes, but we have some excellent drops for that, and she’ll definitely need a round of antibiotics.”

She gently ran her fingers over the animal’s ears, which were tacky and missing patches of fur. Steve couldn’t even be sure what colour the animal was, its fur was so filthy.

“Uhm,” Steve murmured, “Just to be clear…” he scratched his nose, blinking. “It’s a…”

Bucky turned to look at him.

Dr. Wen glanced up, brows rising.

Bucky looked a little wild-eyed.

“…cat?” Steve faded out.

“Oh my _God_ , Steve,” Bucky hissed. “She’s not a cat! What the hell?” Like he hadn’t mistaken the animal’s sex only moments ago.

The doc’s lips curled inward, holding in what must be a laugh at Steve’s expense.

“She’s a goddamn dog!” Bucky griped, waving his hand about. He wasn’t wearing his usual glove because of the good weather, so the vet and techs had probably noticed the metal. It was damn hard to miss.

“Okay!” Steve flushed pink, “I’m just verifying.”

“You mean you couldn’t _tell?”_ Bucky sniped back. “What did you think I was carrying? A fuckin’ raccoon?”

“Raccoons are cute…” Steve huffed and folded his arms. “It could have been a squirrel.”

What the two of them must look like to this woman.

“Yeah, so are skunks,” Bucky said, “But we ain’t pickin’ ‘em up off the street, pal.”

“I’d advise you not to,” Dr Wen said. She was carefully pushing back tufts of sticky fur. “She will need her shots, if we’re assuming she is a stray.”

“Well, some asshole left her outside to die, so yeah, she’s a stray,” Bucky said.

Steve wondered how the little puppy could have gotten caught between the dumpster and the fence after all. Surely she hadn’t climbed up there, it was too far from the ground.

Looking down at the little thing, Steve swallowed. She probably would have died, had she been left out there much longer.

“All right,” Dr Wen murmured, “I’m going to take her upstairs for a blood test and skin scraping, in case she has mange. If you gentlemen want to sit in the waiting area, I shouldn’t be too long.

“‘Kay,” Bucky grumbled and helped wrap up the puppy before watching the vet pick her up and whisk her away.

 

* * *

  
When Doctor Wen reappeared, the dog didn’t look too bothered. There was less gunk around her eyes and her face was clean, showing off a black nose and white markings around her snout.

“So,” the doc murmured, gently placing the tiny animal on the table again. “Based on the skin scrapings, she doesn’t appear to have any worrying skin conditions. Going forward, her diet will help to fix up her skin and fur. She’s had a rough little life so far. The bald spots might no grow in fully, but we’d best give it a try.”

She looked up at the two men seated anxiously on the too-small bench in the examination room. This place was not made for wide-shouldered super soldiers.

“Now, she’ll need her shots. Going off her age and how you found her, I highly doubt she’s had them all.”

“Okay,” Steve nodded slowly.

“I can print out the estimate for what they will cost…” the doc said before Bucky interrupted.

“Don’t worry. We can afford it.”

Steve almost smiled, enjoying the way Bucky was embracing what had started out as Steve’s money and was now _their_ money, even if was slightly aggressive the way he said it. It had been a sore spot for a long time, what with Bucky not yet able to work like he used to before the war. Not that he had to, Steve insisted.

Dr. Wen smiled and her shoulders dropped from the tense position she’d been holding them. Talking money with clients was obviously not easy when the non-payment of care usually meant a small animal could suffer.

“She’s small, but at eight weeks, she’ll still need the standard gamut of vaccinations, including bordetella and distemper. You’ll need to come back in a few more weeks for the rabies shot. That sound good?”

Both men nodded.

She indicated for one of them to come and hold the puppy. Steve moved just as Bucky did. While Dr. Wen turned to the medicine fridge that hummed against the wall, Bucky enveloped the little thing in his big hands. The puppy didn’t seem to be in pain anymore, though she did shiver and droop. Probably terrified, Steve realized.

“Okay,” the doc said, coming back and loading up a needle. Ugh, _needles._ “Now if you can hold her a sec, this is going to sting.”

The doc cooed and aimed for the dog’s rear. The puppy gave a sharp whine and tried to twist, but Bucky’s hand couldn’t be moved.

“Oh, there,” Dr. Wen said softly, under her breath. Steve had never seen a vet at work before. He’d never had any kind of pet. He was sure, looking back, that he’d harboured some form of allergies to cats at the bare minimum.

Dr. Wen was very gentle, using soft touches and quiet words. Steve wondered how she worked with the bigger animals, like the massive black beast he’d seen down their street a few times.

“You’re going to have to give her a warm bath, and we’ll send some flea wash home with you as well.” Dr. Wen said, staring at them with stern eyes. “Are you planning to keep her? At least until she recovers? If not, please let me know and we can rehabilitate her here and hopefully, time willing, give her up for adoption.”

“We’ll look after her,” Bucky said.

He didn’t even hesitate, and Steve would be mildly offended at the fact he hadn’t even _asked_ Steve, but…it made sense that Bucky found this struggling little scraggly creature and decided immediately to take it in, wrap it up in his open heart and take it home.

Steve was very familiar with the sensation of being loved by Bucky, and it _was_ wonderful. Watching Bucky tense his jaw defiantly while holding a tiny baby animal in his hands only made Steve’s chest swell with pride.

 

* * *

 

Steve flicked on the lights to their kitchen and dumped the bag of medicine and food on the counter.

“So, what’s first?” he said, pulling out and lining up the array of bottles and tubes. He read the antibiotics first as they came with big red warning labels. “Says one pill a day at the same time, for seven days.” God, the pills were tiny. How were they going to get them in this little dog? Steve’s big fingers probably couldn’t even pick one pill up if he dropped it.

“Doc said we should bathe her first,” Bucky murmured, going over to the sink. He turned on the faucet, his new bundle of joy cradled in his elbow. “And more drinking water.”

Steve went to their cupboard and stared.

They didn’t exactly have puppy food dishes lying around, so he pulled out one of the chip dip bowls Sam’s mother had gifted them at Thanksgiving.

He sidled up beside Bucky and filled up the small bowl, eyeing the animal curled up in Bucky’s hoodie.

“You want me to put that in the wash?” he asked softly.

Bucky nodded and gently unraveled the dog from the fabric and set her down on the counter. He nudge the bowl of water closer but she barely responded. “Can you get a towel too?”

“Sure.”

When Steve returned, he found Bucky reading the shampoo bottle.

“Says here it’ll help with her itchy, dry skin,” he said, glaring at the bottle like it wasn’t doing right by his ma.

Steve laid out a towel on the counter beside the sink. He figured it would be easier than the bathtub. The dog was, after all, miniscule. He tapped off the faucet and swirled his hand in the lukewarm water. How deep should it be? It barely made it up to the middle of his palm if he stood his hand up, fingertips touching the bottom of the sink. He turned and saw Bucky watching the dog, the dirty brown, matted little thing with eyes that were gumming up again.

“Okay, you ready?” Steve murmured.

Bucky nodded. He gently picked up the dog and brought her over to the sink, then lowered her into the warm water. She shivered and shook, obviously scared of whatever this torturous treatment was. Poor little thing.

The puppy squirmed in Bucky’s hands and gave a little whine. He shifted her to his left hand and flipped her over gently, resting her on her back.

“It’s okay, baby,” Bucky said gently. He grabbed up the shampoo and squirted some onto her belly. Steve watched, mesmerized, as Bucky softly rubbed the shampoo into her fur in small circular motions. The water started to bubble around his fingers as it also turned a muggy shade of grey. He was meticulous and gentle, coaxing her tiny paws up one at a time and rubbing at them with his thumb. The vet had trimmed her scarily long nails on all four paws, showing how very little walking she’d been able to do in her short life on planet earth.

“Doc says we gotta massage her legs, gets her blood flowing,” Bucky said. The dog whined and twisted a bit, until she was resting her belly on Bucky’s palm. He lowered her into the shallow water and began washing her back. Clumps of fur and dirt came loose, revealing patches of pink skin, and what looked to be a warm, honey-coloured coat. The fur around her legs was white and soft, but thinning.

Bucky carefully scrubbed every patch of skin and fur, watching as the dirt melted into the water.

“Refill?” Bucky asked, lifting her up while staring at Steve.

Steve nodded, drained the sink, and refilled it while Bucky gently wiped at the puppy’s muzzle.

“What breed is she, by the way?” Steve murmured.

Bucky blinked and paused. “Uh…”

“You don’t know?” Steve said.

Bucky frowned, “No, do I look like a fuckin’ dog whisperer?”

“Well, didn’t the doc say?” Steve frowned.

“No,” Bucky grunted. “You were there the whole time. You hear me ask?”

“Okay,” Steve sighed.

By the time the fresh batch of water was murky again, but not disgusting, they were done. Bucky wrapped the dog up in the towel Steve had brought, and rubbed her down gently.

Steve counted out her pills and eyed the cans of wet dog food they’d been told to buy. It hadn’t been cheap, any of it.

“You think she’ll just eat the pills?” he asked.

“Fuck, I don’t know,” Bucky murmured and came over.

Steve turned and blinked at the little white, pink and caramel face poking out of the towel. She looked like a furry burrito.

He smiled, “Oh, hi there, little girl,” he said softly, leaning in. With her eyes clearer, he could see how big and brown they were.

“You’re scaring her, you big ogre,” Bucky shunted his hip into Steve’s. Steve grinned.

“Here, let’s try this,” Steve said, peeling open a small can of food labeled specifically for puppies. He scooped out a fingerful and held it out. It smelled…gelatinous and salty.

The dog sniffed warily at it. She turned her head aside.

“Crap,” Steve sighed, “Maybe she doesn’t eat solids yet.”

“That’s barely a solid,” Bucky said. “Looks like anchovy paste.” He turned and walked over to their corner cabinet above the fancy four-slot toaster. Digging around inside, he pulled out the giant tub of smooth peanut butter that Bucky loved to eat in the middle of the night when he thought Steve was sleeping. Steve hadn’t bought the peanut butter; it had just appeared one day. Bucky must love it. He’d come back to bed sometimes smelling of peanuts and Steve would  _know_ he’d been propped up on the counter, spooning giant portions of the stuff into his face-hole. “Here, try this. The receptionist says it works for pills,” Bucky grunted.

Steve grabbed a spoon and scooped out a blob of peanut butter. This wasn’t the crunchy, hand-milled kind. This was the smooth, oily, decadently obnoxious stuff that gave people coronaries and approximated feelings of actual love.

He held it out to the dog.

“You better wash your hand,” Bucky eyed the dog-food finger too. Steve had wiped it off, but it still smelled funky.

Steve rolled his eyes.

The pup leaned in and snuffled at the spoon.

“Atta girl,” Steve said, as she tentatively licked at the peanut butter. “Just like daddy.”

They managed to hide one of the tiny pills in the next spoonful of peanut butter, which she ate up greedily. Then she gulped at the small bowl of water like a deserted islander.

“So, what now?” Steve said.

“We gotta lay out newspaper, the receptionist said,” Bucky said. “So she can pee and poop.”

“Okay,” Steve nodded. “Where we setting her up? Here?” he pointed to the tiled floor that ended at the french doors that emptied out onto their ridiculously tiny backyard.

Bucky eyed the floor, one finger rubbing over the puppy’s head while he pressed her to his chest. “No, gotta be upstairs. So we can check on her.”

Steve eyed the clock. It was 2am.

“Okay, so how about the bathroom upstairs? You can check on her every hour if you like. I’ll go get an extra pillow. We better get some more supplies in the morning.”

“She needs a bed, and a leash if we’re gonna walk her,” Bucky murmured. He started to unwrap her from her towel prison. Her fur was fluffy and stood up all over like she’d been through a wing tunnel.

“Yeah, and probably a ton more stuff,” Steve sighed. “I have no idea.”

Bucky gently placed the dog on the kitchen island counter. She wobbled on her feet before falling onto her belly. Her head looked overly big for her, and her giant ears were flopped over, one covering her eye. She dozed there for a moment.

“We should give her a name, no?” Steve said, pressing into Bucky’s side. “I mean, if she’s staying, why not–”

“Blueberry,” Bucky said, stroking the puppy’s back and staring at her with soft eyes.

Steve blinked, “O…kay,” he smiled, “that was quick.”

Bucky nodded and eyed Steve from under his eyebrows. “She looks like a Blueberry kinda gal.”

“Cute enough to eat,” Steve smiled and leaned in to kiss Bucky’s cheek.


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky must have gotten up at least ten times that night to check on Blueberry. It was sweet, but it also meant Steve kept waking up, thinking something was wrong, that Bucky was having a nightmare, or pacing again. He was used to the bed dipping whenever Bucky got up at night to fret and rub at his scalp and talk to himself, but it didn’t occur over and over again in one night.

Around 7am, Steve gave up on sleep and dragged himself into the bathroom to shower.

There was no sign of any dog in there, nor any Bucky. No pillow, no towel, nothing.

He paused, figured Bucky was handling it, that Bucky was perfectly capable of taking care of a sickly puppy, then turned the shower on, scaldingly hot.

When Steve did make it downstairs, he wasn’t surprised to find Bucky reading the newspaper at the kitchen table, like always. They still had a few of them delivered, though Steve doesn’t recall ever signing up, nor paying for the newspapers that landed on their doorstep every morning.

“Morning,” Steve yawned and bent over to kiss Bucky’s ear. The dark hair tucked behind said ear was dry, but smelled of their organic handmade shampoo they'd bought from _Pinkmarket._ It was the one store Bucky didn’t balk at when they first walked in.

Steve smiled, kissing Bucky’s neck too. Bucky just grunted in response while he read over the latest news reports. Steve would have to go grocery shopping soon, stock up on the essentials.

The 21st century hadn’t made it easy for Steve to ignore the chemical tang and over-saturation of almost everything sold in stores. Steve had it bad, but Bucky had it worse. Some things smelled wrong to both of them. Deodorant was a strange one, smelling completely inverse to its purpose. Steve could sweat up a storm, but never felt inclined to correct it, not for anybody. He _loved_ the way Bucky smelled after a hard workout, wouldn’t change it for the world, so deodorant wasn't a serious issue in their household.

Processed food was another big red flag, one that Bucky couldn’t stomach at all. His eating habits…well, they _weren’t_ habits because they were almost nonexistent. So feeding him and fattening him up had become a side-project for Steve, one he was wholly, perhaps insanely, invested in.

This was made so much harder because of the sheer amount of processed food out there. Pre-made sandwiches in little triangle packages smelled of strange people’s hands, Bucky said. Cartoned soup smelled like the factory it was made in, and anything, _anything_ that came out of a tube or squeeze-bottle smelled artificial and not far off from plastic. It was Steve who then explained modern chewing gum: soft flavoured plastic and not natural gum anymore. _That_ one made Bucky laugh;  capitalist pigs got so desperate for profits that they had convinced millions of other folks across the globe that chewing literal inedible plastic would keep their damn mouths fresh and pink? Ridiculous!

Everything in their home had to be basic, natural. Thank God for all the mommy bloggers and the vegans and everyone else who gave a damn about this stuff. Steve and Bucky owed them a debt of gratitude.

When Pinkmarket had appeared, It hadn’t smelled sickly, or metallic, or filled with chemical fumes. It had smelled like warm, milky oats and sweet honey. Which was, oddly enough, half the actual ingredient list on most products they sold.

Bucky’s stomach growled loudly. He always waited for Steve to make breakfast.

Steve chuckled. “Where’s your little ward?”

“By the door,” Bucky said, not even looking up.

Steve walked around their small kitchen table and found the scraggly pup, Blueberry, nestled in a mound of Steve’s laundry and Bucky’s oldest scarf.

“Are those my unwashed gym socks?” Steve crooked a brow at the love of his life.

Bucky shrugged. “She’s exhausted,” he said nonchalantly, flipping the page in his hands. “Was up most of the night crying.”

“Really?” Steve frowned. He didn’t remember that. “How do you think she’s doing? Maybe it’s the meds upsetting her belly?”

“Probably,” Bucky said. “Doc said they’re gonna make her a little dopey.”

Steve crouched down and looked over their newest housemate. She was asleep, propped up by the messy pseudo-bed, a morning sunbeam just breaking over her body. Bucky must have felt compelled to line up Steve’s socks around her in a ring so they hugged her legs, kept her safe. Her tiny chest expanded with each snuffling breath. He leaned in and gently ran his thumb over her tummy. Her fur was so soft, but patchy, spots of pink, flaky dry skin poking through. One of her oversized ears was flopped over her eyes and her alarmingly small legs just poked straight out, white paws fat and round. Maybe she’d grow into them.

“I put her eyedrops in,” Bucky said. “And fed her some food from the can you opened.”

“Oh, she ate it?” Steve got to his feet.

“A little,” Bucky shrugged, then folded up the newspaper. “Smells nasty, though. She drank a whole lotta water and pissed most of it out already.”

“She poop yet?” Steve was reminded of the vet’s warning about the deworming medication Blueberry had received the day before.

“Yep,” Bucky said drily. “Carried her outside once I got the message. It was charming. House-training is going to be so much fun.”

Steve smiled fondly, stood up and came round to tilt Bucky’s chin up to meet his gaze. He bent down and kissed Bucky softly, like he always did every morning, come rain or shine. “You’re in love, pal,” he chuckled. Bucky blinked up at him, those pale eyes of his alert and beautiful as ever.

“We gotta go get supplies.”

“A bed,” Steve nodded. “They sell those at the pet store down the way.”

“And we gotta get a crate,” Bucky added. “I googled it. She needs a little place of her own.”

Steve had this vision of Bucky sitting on the floor in their bathroom with Steve’s tablet, searching for anything and everything related to being a new dogparent while Blueberry snuffled in the safe warmth of his lap.

Steve’s smile was wry. “Buying her an apartment already? Sheesh, I hope the girl goes to college, gets a law degree, the whole shebang on this trust fund we seem to have for her.”

Bucky reached round and pinched his side, making Steve yelp.

“You shut your face,” Bucky rumbled. "She hasn't even started kindergarten."

 

* * *

 

“Okay, but if she doesn’t get to walk, she’s never gonna develop any walking legs,” Steve said.

“She can’t _go_ any _further,_ ” Bucky said angrily, glaring at Steve over his armful of dog. Blueberry panted happily in the crook of his elbow, her tongue lolling in the warm sunshine. The flimsy leash they’d gotten at the vet was hanging all over Bucky, wrapped three times around his wrist. Blueberry’s eyes were slits, not from the sunshine but from the irritation she still had. Bucky had been diligent about wiping the crust from them every hour or so. She didn’t seem too bothered about getting the royal treatment.

Steve snorted and walked when the traffic light changed.

The pet store was one of those hole-in-the-wall places, very unlike the big stores on the main drag, where Steve saw long-legged elegant dogs (and once, an actual real live pig on a leash) with their upper-crust owners.

This place was called ‘Pet Goods' which, well, made sense.

Steve held the door open.

Inside it was like that dollar store in Chinatown they’d walked into one day and had a helluva time finding their way out of. The shelves were ceiling-high, stuffed with all sorts of pet paraphernalia. Bucky wrinkled his nose and looked like he wished he was wearing his high-collare jacket instead of a t-shirt, jeans and baseball cap. There was a strong animal and fish smell in the air.

Bucky headed down the first aisle, walking a long way in before stopping at a wall of leashes and collars.

“Wow. There must be over a hundred types,” Steve stared up at the rainbow selection.

“Hello!” a short woman appeared out of nowhere. Steve did _not_ gasp audibly, not did Bucky jump a little. “Can I help you find anything?”

“Uh, leash,” Bucky said, tilting his head down to his precious cargo.

The woman’s eyes trailed down Bucky before focusing on his little passenger. Steve would swear she was going to shriek or flail, judging by the sudden tenseness in her arms and shoulders, but she seemed to pull herself together at the last second. “Oh. My. God. Look at _you!_ ” she whispered loudly, hoarsely. She was wearing a green-tinted visor over her coiffed curled red hair with dark roots showing.

She came in close, scary close, to pet Blueberry. Bucky twisted away. “She’s sick,” he grunted.

Good thing this lady had no idea Bucky was three seconds away from shivving her with whatever was close.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, still grinning, apparently unperturbed by his rudeness. “She’s very small. You’re looking for a harness, yes?”

“A what?” the two men said.

She turned and walked a little ways down the aisle. “We have harnesses for small dogs. They’re much safer, ‘cos collars can sometimes hurt their little necks.” She held up two things that looked like collars that got stuck in bondage. One was silver, the other a plaid patterned thing.

Bucky touched one, then pulled back.

“Do you have better colours?” he murmured.

“Of course!” she turned and bent down to dig around through the array of _things_. “What’s her star sign? When was she born?” the woman asked.

“Her what–” Steve made a face.

“She’s a Pisces,” Bucky said immediately, making Steve turn slowly to eye him. Bucky was dead serious, the fucker.

“Ah!” the woman crowed and almost climbed _into_ the shelves. “Pisces look wonderful in this!” She got back onto her feet and turned.

Bucky’s eyes actually lit up. The luminous turquoise harness was _bright,_  so bright. He took it from the woman with his metal hand and held it up to Blueberry. The dog snuffled at it curiously, probably unsure what was going on outside her limited vision, then sneezed.

“It should fit her,” the woman went on, “But she will probably get bigger, so keep in mind if it gets too tight, you may need another.”

Steve would have normally pooh-poohed that idea, but at the look in Bucky’s eye, the gleam of _things for his puppy,_ Steve knew he’d go hog-wild and buy _all_ the damn leashes, and all the damn harnesses and hell, all the whips and garters, whatever else was required to please him.

“Do you need anything else?” the woman asked, smiling up at Steve. Was everyone in this neighbourhood tiny? Or were they just the tallest men on the block? Sometimes Steve wasn’t sure. Natasha always joked that Tony could hook them up with NBA front-row seats to get their healthy egos in check, but he never could tell if she was joking or not.

“Bed,” Bucky said. “Brush. Nail clippers. Dog peeing … paper?” Bucky frowned and tipped his head to the side. Steve wanted to smush his cheeks and eat them up!

“Oh, pee pads?” the woman clapped her hands. “Of course! We also have shampoo and ear wipes, and cones if you need.”

“Cones?” Bucky said.

Like ice-cream cones? Steve wondered. Did dogs eat ice-cream now? Was that a thing?

“Yes,” the saleslady said. They followed her down the winding aisles of miscellany. “I see she has a bit of patchy fur–” Steve didn’t miss the way Bucky’s hand pressed to Blueberry’s back. “-in case she starts to itch and lick, we have these soft cones. Goes around the neck. So no licking.”

“Sure,” Steve patted Bucky’s lower back, “We’ll take a look.”

The cones were upsetting to Bucky, the pictures on the labels showing animals with lampshades on their heads. So Steve pushed them further into the store.

They found the dog bed section which had Bucky inspecting each and every option for softness, texture and filling.

“But if she rips it, will she choke on those little white balls, or plastic fluff, Steve,” he said, throwing another ugly brown one aside. Why were they all being shunted aside? Bucky sniffed by shoving his face right into one bright bed. He scowled at it and threw it aside.

“What about this?” Steve held out one that was bright yellow and patterned to look like a giant sunflower with big yellow petals that could fold over the bed, creating a warm cocoon.

“Gimme,” Bucky inspected it. He smelled it. “Hm.” Then he squished it some more with his metal hand. “Hm.” He held it up to Blueberry, obviously taking her puppy opinion into account. The dog probably wouldn’t know the difference between a turd and a donut, but Bucky had glared at Steve last time he’d said that. Blueberry didn’t flinch at the bed. “Yes. Fine. Good.”

Steve rolled his eyes and added the cost of the bed to what was an already growing bill.

In the end, Steve left the store with:

  * 1 dog bed
  * 1 metal dog crate (assembly required)
  * 2 chew toys made of some kind of stinky natural fibre
  * 4 bags of organic dried treats
  * 2 harnesses (1 turquoise, 1 purple)
  * 1 retractible lead that made weird clicking noises
  * 1 pair of nail clippers that looked more like pliers
  * 2 tubs of ear wipes
  * 2 boxes of pee pads
  * 1 snoring puppy
  * 1 very long receipt
  * 1 smug boyfriend of indiscernible quality



 

* * *

 

Watching Bucky build and prep Blueberry’s bed and crate area was a thing to behold.

While Steve cooked up some linguine and meatballs, Bucky sat on the small deck outside their back door and wrangled the crate into submission. Winter Soldier or no, the metal ends and connectors would not line up. Bucky grunted and swore up a storm, like a kid trying to wrestle open a new toy encased in sharp, unyielding plastic  on his birthday. Blueberry wanted to help, it seemed, but was still too underfed and weak to do much more than wobble around on shaky legs, flop onto her belly and huff in Bucky’s general direction. She was almost flat as a pancake, stubby legs splayed out behind her. Perhaps she was getting used to them.

Once the crate was finally assembled, it naturally followed that Bucky would take Blueberry on a tour of their tiny backyard, with its concrete blocks, verdant weeds and flowerbeds filled with thistles. Steve smiled when some of the tour drifted indoors.

“This is where Steve likes to sit and get sunburn everytime I tell him he shouldn’t,” Bucky murmured. “This is where we tried to grow tomatoes, but we forgot to water them and then winter came. See those sticks? That’s them. And _this_ is where I buried the burner phones and a few other things, but don’t tell anyone.”

Steve always did the cooking these days. It made it easier for him to make sure Bucky ate and it ensured Bucky would sit down with him. If Bucky ate outdoors, few and far between these days, he’d inevitably get distracted by the city, by watching people, by checking blind spots. Here at home, it was only Steve he had to keep an eye on, and vice versa.

Steve scooped out a massive portion of meat, pasta and sauce into Bucky’s favourite bowl. The blue and white speckled ceramic, for some reason, made Bucky eat better, like it could never be mistaken for anything other than dollar store tat that Hydra wouldn’t be seen dead with. Apparently the organization hell-bent on spending time and money butchering victims and enemies into literal Frankenstein experiments drew the line at low-quality utensils, including their feeding apparatus, cutlery and drinkware. If they ever went to fancy restaurants, Bucky always got spooked by the pristine dinnerware, saying it was bad-times central. White porcelain was never good, nor was crystal goblets and carved, gleaming cutlery.

More than once, Steve had asked for takeout boxes in lieu of a proper date night.

“She did poopies,” Bucky said, coming inside, dog in the crook of his elbow.

“Ah, perfect,” Steve eyed the meatballs, wishing Bucky had better timing. “Food’s ready.”

“Mmmm,” Bucky rumbled, coming over to inspect Steve’s work.

Blueberry gave a little yip, her tongue lolling out.

“No, that’s for me,” Bucky laughed softly and tapped her on the nose. She yipped again.

“She going in the crate?” Steve asked, scooping out his own portion.

“Yeah,” Bucky went over to the French door and pulled the newly-built crate inside. He pushed it into the corner of the room with his foot and gently placed Blueberry inside. She wobbled around on the textured metal then sat down, looking a little out of it.

“Hm,” Bucky hummed. “It’s pretty big.”

“Well, she’s pretty small,” Steve carried their food over to the table. He pushed at some of the papers and packaging left on the wooden top. They always had to shuffle to make room for plates. One of these days Steve was going to lose his mind and just toss it all into Upper Bay. He crunched what he could in his hands and lobbed it into the recycling bin.

“Hmmm,” Bucky settled into his own chair, eyes still on Blueberry who was already dozing off.

Steve sat down beside Bucky, ravenous hunger clawing at his insides suddenly. “Eat, Buck.” He handed over a knife and fork and indicated Bucky should be sitting and chewing by now.

Bucky took them and did as he was told. He knew by now to listen when Steve pushed him to eat because more often than not, he would forget.

Bucky was halfway through his second mouthful when he paused for a moment, thinking, eyes still on the newest member of the Barnes-Rogers household.

“Hold on,” he said, mouth full of meatball and sauce, and Steve frowned. Bucky got to his feet hurriedly and left the room.

“Crap.” Steve murmured, putting his own cutlery down. Were the noodles making him sick again? Or was it the sauce? Steve had used only fresh tomatoes, but maybe the dried herbs were–

Bucky reappeared, sunflower dogbed in hand. He was still chewing, focused. He went round to the corner, crouched down and gently squeezed the whole thing into the crate, forcing it to fit. Blueberry was slow and got a little smushed in the process, but Bucky fished her out and plopped her neatly in the middle of her new, soft bed.

“There, princess,” Bucky said lowly, scritching at her head. Blueberry laid her head down, clearly worn out from her world tour.

God, Steve thought he was in love before, but _this_ took the cake! Bucky got to his feet and came back round to sit beside Steve. “Right, food. Where was I–mmf!”

Steve’s lips crashed into Bucky’s. “You’re too cute!” he mouthed against Bucky’s teeth. "Intolerable."

“Hey!” Bucky said, pushing Steve back. “I’m tryin’a eat here, pal.” Steve grinned sloppily and sat back.

He was never going to stand inbetween Bucky and a good meal.

“We can talk smooches later,” Bucky added, taking a big bite out of a meatball and glaring at Steve like he wasn’t the sappiest boyfriend on earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for staying with me. More to come. :)


	3. Chapter 3

“You’re doing it wrong,” Steve said.

“The hell you know?” Bucky said, angrily trying to wrangle Blueberry into a harness.

“Buck, we’ve been here fifteen minutes and we haven’t even stepped outside yet.”

Which was true. The three of them were crammed into the small shoe/boots/miscellaneous crap side entrance of their old, creaky little home. Naturally none of Bucky’s boots, flip-flops or fluffy pink slippers were organized on the nifty shoe rack Steve had bought for him. So the two men and a dog were balancing awkwardly in the small space, barely any floor to stand on. All the while Buckytried to figure out which way to insert the dog into the turquoise harness thing they’d bought at the store. Not as easy at it looked in the store. The harness was a nightmare of straps and fabric and snaps and clasps. It looked like a weird, soft garter with wide flaps. It looked like a collapsible board game with straps.

“No, her leg–” Steve huffed and bent down awkwardly.

Blueberry clearly didn’t know why these two strange giants, who had been kindly feeding, bathing and loving her, were obsessed with poking all her limbs into some weird garment. Bucky had spent a good few minutes trying to coax one paw in at a time, then when he would move to the next paw, Blueberry would remove her previous paw from whatever position it had settled in, choosing to bat at Bucky’s hands.

“Fine, you figure it out,” Bucky huffed and stood up, flushed from bending over.

Steve would have laughed, but the small space was getting too warm. He took the harness from Bucky and held it up, inspecting it from all angles. “Ah, got it,” he murmured, flipping the thing over in his hands. “Her legs go in here, then we clip her on _top_ ,” he pointed. “Like a suitcase.”

Bucky just folded his arms. “Like a _suitcase?_ ”

“You know what I mean,” Steve rolled his eyes and crouched down, wobbling. “When she’s standing in the four holes here, we can pull up both sides, like closing a suitcase, and snap it closed on her back. Then the leash attaches here.”

Bucky watched as Steve wrestled Blueberry into place, choosing to lift her up in one hand, then just looping the harness under her belly, letting her sort legs dangle into the slots while she tried to lick at his fingers.

When Blueberry was snugly fitted, Steve set her down on the floor and attached the leash, giving the handle back to Bucky.

“Finally,” Bucky grumbled, pulling open their side door. Blueberry didn’t seem to understand what was going on, tumbling over Bucky’s black combat boots and yipping in surprise.

He took pity and hefted her down the two concrete steps and placed her on the ground facing the side gate. Steve followed, shutting and locking the door behind them.

“So, let’s go,” Steve said, wondering faintly if he wasn’t supposed to partake in this. Maybe Bucky wanted to do it without him? It wasn’t a big deal, but Bucky never really left the house without Steve unless under his heavy anti-anxiety medication, and even then those moments were rare.

“Give her a second,” Bucky said.

Blueberry just stood between their feet, like a furry ball. She sniffed the air, licked at her nose, then turned to look up at them, her stubby tail wagging. In the sunshine, it was very apparent she had big patches of fur missing.

“You give her her meds?” Steve asked, moving to the gate and unlatching it.

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “She’s got a few pills to go, but yeah.”

“So what’re we achieving here?” Steve asked. He held the gate open and Bucky moved past him. Blueberry got the message and skipped to follow, her tiny feet carrying her as fast as they could.

“The doc said she’s gotta work her muscles, get her used to walking. Says it’ll be good for her heart, digestion, all that.”

Blueberry tried to keep up, but she was, after all, still a pup.

Bucky paused until she sniffed around his sneakers and then ran ahead.

“God, she’s cute though,” Steve murmured, following them.

“Hey, unravel these, will ya?” Bucky said, pulling out a strange roll of what looked like plastic sheets. “I gotta put ‘em in this thing.”

He held up a pill-shaped receptacle thing with a hole in one side and a metal loop on the end.

“What am I looking at?” Steve said, taking both items.

“Poop bags and poop-bag holder,” Bucky said. “I got a lot.” Steve was reminded of the many boxes Bucky had shoved into the under-cupboard of their kitchen.

“Hmm,” Steve did as he was told, realizing that the future now allowed to for dog poop bags that came pre-packaged. “You ever remember folks pickin’ up dog shit before?”

“Nah,” Bucky hummed. “People didn’t really do this with dogs, did they? Who even had dogs? Maybe rich folks?” Steve smiled at the way Bucky said _dawgs._

“Maybe,” Steve murmured, taking the plastic pill thing from Bucky. He wrangled it open and shoved the plastic bag roll inside, making sure the newest baggy stuck out and through the hole. “Where you gonna put this?” he said, snapping it shut.

Bucky took the tube and clipped it onto the leash’s handle. “See?” he let it dangle. “Free hands”

“Huh,” Steve nodded. “Makes sense. Gotta keep the streets clean.”

“You think that’s what it is?”

Steve shrugged, “I think so. Remember when the campaigns started when we were kids.”

“Nope,” Bucky said, without a care.

“I remember my ma talking about it. Some kind of health concern.”

The two of them walked slowly behind the puppy that led the way. It was early enough that the lunchtime sun had yet to arc over the neighbourhood, scorching the ground.

Blueberry was very small and very nosy, sniffing at _everything_. She sniffed at leaves, flowers, bugs, weird stains, everything. A couple times Bucky had to pull her away from the curb, or the stinky drain. She sniffed at old candy wrappers, a rotten pear, and sometimes, other pedestrians’ feet.

One old man gruffly brushed past making some comment about ‘dog’s too small …real man,’ which only made Steve smile.

“If he only knew, huh.”

“Exactly,” Bucky said, shaking his head. He was lucky. The Winter Soldier had come into the public eye at such a critical time politically. Only in America could a wanted ex-Soviet assassin proven to be the embodiment of the Unknown Soldier, get exonerated not only because he was tortured, brainwashed and American, but also the best friend of the nation’s golden warrior. Ten years ago, this wouldn’t have flown. Twenty years ago Bucky would be sitting either in a chair running AC current, or in a cell 20 leagues under the sea, never to be seen again. But it was the 21st century and he was a free man, if not universally loved, but still, free. Widow had made sure of it.

Blueberry did her business and Bucky bent down to pet her head.

“Gotta reinforce good behaviour,” he murmured, pulling out some kind of small treat from his shorts pocket. Steve had bought this pair of shorts. They were navy with pink flamingoes.Bucky never thought to buy himself new clothes, so it was Steve’s unfortunate job. Natasha always cackled when she saw Steve’s retail choices, but whatever. He was a goddamn supersoldier, not a fashionista. Besides, Bucky didn’t give a flying fuck what Steve bought. He’d wear a muumuu if it was comfortable and breezy enough.

“Right,” Steve nodded. He glanced at Bucky, who had paused, leash in one hand, baggie in the other hand. “Buck?”

Bucky blinked slowly, then shook his head. “Nothing.”

And they went on their way down the street, following their tiny guide until she got too tired, flopped on her belly and Bucky had to pick her up and carry her home.

* * *

It had been two weeks since they’d found Blueberry, taken her in and now treated her as their own. Bucky had thrown himself into the task and was diligent in his care of the dog.

Steve watched as Bucky wrote down on his regular shopping list more dog supplies. He chewed on the old yellow pencil eraser, reminding Steve so much of their youth. Bucky was focused on everything Blueberry, from dawn til’ dusk. He took notes on her skin, her eyes, her nose, her teeth and her nails. He inspected all her limbs each morning, rubbing his thumbs over the soft pink pads of her feet. Steve wondered if other dogs were as playful, or docile as Blueberry. She loved lolling on Bucky’s thighs while he played in-house vet tech, applying ointment to her dry skin and drops to her eyes. Perhaps she was just like Steve, basking in Bucky’s attention like a sunflower.

He’d bathed her the night before, showing Steve how her little bald patches were growing in, a good sign.

“This one looks weird though,” Bucky had said, poking at a belly spot. “It’s dirty, but I can’t get it clean?” Blueberry’s belly was round, full from her delicious dinner of steamed chicken.

Steve had taken a good look, then laughed. “Her fur’s not brown there, Buck. She must have spots of other colour. That’s just a grey patch.” Which made sense as it was obvious more of her fur was revealing itself to not be caramel-coloured.

They’d also gone back to the vet for a check-up. Dr Wen was very pleased with Blueberry’s progress and Steve guessed she wasn’t going to report them to the Pet Care Authorities, or whatever they were called.

Bucky had asked about nail clipping and the doc gave them a bunch of tips. Bucky actually asked a helluva lot more questions this time, obviously learning from last time.

Watching Bucky look after Blueberry had become a revelation of sorts for Steve. Initially, Steve had gone along with this escapade because, well, it was something new. But now he could see something happening. Owning Blueberry was luring Bucky out of the house for mandatory walkies. It made Bucky step out into the sun on a daily basis and pushed him to interact with other people sometimes.

Bucky was even heading out on his own, circling the block a few times a day and always returning in a good mood. He still wore his baseball cap and oversized hoodie and glove, but at least he was venturing further from their safety net. Change was terrifying, but change was good. Steve was a stout believer in that.

 

There really was only one other change that was concerning Steve, and that was the fact their house was reaching some saturation point of dog paraphernalia. It was creeping up on them.

One day it was an extra bed in the living room, so Blueberry could snooze while they read or talked after dinner. Then it was toys. Squeaky toys, rubber toys. Balls, boomerangs and ropes. More pee pads, more wipes, more random ear cleansers. And more types of food, more recipe books, more dog training mnuals and friggin' dollar-store movies about dogs playing basketball and the  _piano._

Then there was another dog bed in their bedroom, a round, domed pink monstrosity that Steve was sure he hadn’t seen before. Who had designed it? Who had ordered it be manufactured and possibly mass-produced? Bucky had _paid_ for it, for Christ's sake. With real money! Bucky was very familiar by now with buying shit online and getting it delivered, so Steve was never going to see it all coming in. The evidence was never left lying around. Was he gonna have to monitor the credit cards now? Did their miniscule dog that took up barely a whole kitchen tile really need three beds?

Which was why Steve had to address it while both of them stood at the kitchen island.

“But she doesn’t sleep in our bedroom,” Steve said, mixing up some homemade mayo. “She’s in crate-training, no?”

Bucky didn’t answer, choosing instead to chew some more on that poor defenceless pencil while he leaned both elbows on the marble beside Steve.

“Buck,” Steve said. “We agreed she’d stay downstairs because it’s dangerous. She can’t climb the stairs, but she could definitely fall down ‘em.”

Bucky glared at his shopping list.

“Plus,” Steve said, licking at a drop of mayo on his thumb knuckle. “She needs to learn boundaries. Didn’t you learn that in that obedience guide you got?”

Bucky scratched out an item on the list. Steve hoped it had been ‘dog bed #4’.

“Hey,” Steve put his mixing tools down and wiped his hands. He came up closer to Bucky and pulled the pencil free.

Bucky yanked on it, his jaw set.

“Hey, what’s up?” Steve murmured.

“She cries when we leave her downstairs,” Bucky said, finally making sharp eye contact.

“Okay,” Steve nodded. “But we can’t just let her have whatever she wants, Buck,” Steve said.

“She’s not a freakin’ kid, Steve,” Bucky said. “She’s a dog. And dogs only care about being close to their humans.”

“Sure,” Steve said calmly, “But you wanna risk her safety when we go to sleep and she’s not in her crate?”

Bucky’s jaw tensed and Steve felt like maybe he’d won this round.

The next afternoon, there was a goddamn swinging, lockable gate screwed into the top banister of their staircase.

* * *

“Mmm…” Bucky moaned into his pillow. “Stevie.”

Steve kissed at his shoulder blade, then up his neck, to the messy bun of dark hair. He rolled his hips, feeling Bucky tighten around his cock. “You almost there, baby?” Steve whispered.

Bucky nodded, his pillow held firm by both arms curled under it. Steve watched Bucky lip at the pillowcase, a sign that Bucky was stimulated and calm. It had taken Steve months to find just the right bed linen that would get Bucky to that place, the place back in the heady thirties and forties where they spent lazy nights making each other happy.

Bucky grunted into the pillow and Steve saw his fists clench. Steve rocked his hips back, then pushed into Bucky slowly, pressing hard. He pressed his body down onto Bucky, warming them both as Bucky panted loudly.

Steve nudged at the hair falling over Bucky’s face with his nose and he kissed Bucky’s cheek. “Like that?”

“Fuck yes,” Bucky moaned and shuddered.

Steve felt the way Bucky tensed and wish he’d had the foresight to at least get a hand on Bucky’s cock, but oh well.

He let the tremors run through Bucky for a moment, before pulling out, knowing that any more stimulation wouldn’t feel too hot.

“We gotta wash the sheets,” Steve chuckled, rolling Bucky over onto his back.

“Guh,” Bucky was still shivering, lying back naked and stunning and carved in oak before Steve. God, he still took Steve’s breath away. He nuzzled close and kissed Bucky, his own cock a hard pressure between them.

Bucky kissed him, lips soft and welcoming.

“You’re too good at getting me to blow my load, Rogers,” Bucky rumbled, shifting again, getting comfortable on their immense bed.

“With practice comes skill,” Steve laughed against Bucky.

A sharp slap landed heavily on Steve’s rear and he gasped.

“Bucky…” he purred, wiggling as the flesh hand rubbed at his butt cheek.

“You’re a terrible boyfriend,” Bucky said, finally opening clear eyes and staring at Steve.

“I’m pretty sure that orgasm I just gave you earns me a first place award on the roster of excellent boyfriends list,” Steve said.

Bucky shrugged and actually smiled, “Meh, I could do better.”

Steve cocked a brow. “You mean you could do better by getting a better boyfriend, or you could do better at giving orgasms, ‘cos _pal_ , let me tell you.”

“Do you ever shut up?” Bucky said.

“Only if I got something in my mouth,” Steve grinned.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “See, and I was gonna give you a blowie ‘cos I’m generous and all, but now I don’t think I can.”

“Oh, you still can,” Steve licked his lips and shifted his hips, pressing his erection into Bucky’s hip and rocking. The wetness of the lube was causing it to slide nicely right _there_.

“But do I want to?” Bucky drawled. “I’m tired.”

“Want me to sit on your face?” Steve grinned wider.

Bucky smirked and patted Steve's ass again. “All right, if you insist, get up here and do some work, Rogers.”

And, well, Steve was never one for defying Bucky’s orders.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much soft, very wow. Thanks for the lovely feedback so far folks. Sometimes a little softness is good for the soul. :) Stay tuned.


	4. Chapter 4

“Sweetheart,” Steve murmured, coming into the bedroom. It was past eleven and no sign of his boyfriend anywhere.

The shape under the covers didn’t move. The curtains were drawn and Bucky’s breakfast was cold downstairs.

“Hey,” Steve said softly and sat on his side of the bed, leaning over the Bucky-shaped lump. “I made fresh coffee. The omelette’s old now, though. You want scrambled eggs? Waffles?” He pressed his hand to Bucky’s shoulder.

“No,” came Bucky’s reponse, slow and dull.

Steve’s already wilting smile disappeared altogether. “Bucky?” he said, but Bucky just pulled the covers completely over his head. “Not a good day?” he finished lamely.

Bucky curled in tighter on himself.

Fuck.

Steve frowned. “You want to try sitting up? Buck?” He waited a beat. “You got a headache?”

Bucky just grunted softly, a sure sign that he just wanted to be left alone.

Steve looked around their dark room. Shit.

“You want me to bring Blueberry in? She could–”

“Steve, no,” Bucky said, voice gruff but quiet. “Just…don’t.”

And God if that plaintive note in Bucky’s voice didn’t pull at Steve’s heartstrings. He swallowed audibly, stomach sinking. He’d been planning a day out for them, maybe a trip down to the water, get some of that summer sun before it was all gone. “All right, Buck. I’m going to go walk her, give you some quiet. If you need anything, I’m taking my phone with me, okay?”

Bucky didn’t respond, but Steve could feel how wound he was, how he wanted to be left alone. He’d seen this a hundred times before.

Steve closed the bedroom door, leaving a gap, then padded downstairs to an eager puppy in her crate.

“Hi, miss,” Steve cooed, opening up the crate. “Sorry, Daddy’s not feeling so good. So we’ll go walkies just you and me, okay? How’s that sound?”

Blueberry only seemed to register the word _walkies_ , judging by the way her ears perked up and she began wriggling like mad in his hands. Steve carried her over to the med station, which was comprised of two small plastic toolboxes: one for Blueberry and her array of meds and wipes and sprays, and the other for Bucky; kept, as always, right next to the coffee pot and toaster.

Steve ran through the ritual of wiping Blueberry’s ears, then eyedrops in her admittedly clear brown eyes. Just as a precaution these days. He rubbed a dab of organic skin cream into the few remaining dry spots on her belly, then deemed her appropriately prepped for the outside world.

“Walkies?” he cooed at her and she wriggled like crazy, yipping and nipping at his chin.

He got her into her harness (he was a pro these days) and hooked up the leash. She pulled, straining at it, and led him hastily to the side door, already learned in the ways of escape.

Steve eyed the staircase, thinking of Bucky alone at home, then pushed his cellphone into his jeans pocket. He slipped on a hideous pair of rainbow flip-flops that Sam had bought him, put on his sunglasses and cap and opened the door for his rarin’-to-go puppy.

 

Bucky _always_ walked Blueberry. Steve hadn’t, until now, ever done it alone. She was Bucky’s princess and he doted on her constantly, taking her out at all times of the day, rain or shine. Once Steve had woken to an empty bed and after fifteen minutes of assuming Bucky had been kidnapped and murdered, found him and blueberry sauntering down the steeet in the middle of the night, like Hydra wasn’t still a possibility. Usually, they’d come back with ice cream, or beer from the convenience store. Other times Bucky’d bring back flowers for Steve that would make him blush, or a bright yellow raincoat for Blueberry (while Bucky just stood there drenched in their foyer, face lit up by the image of a plastic-covered pup with one flopping ear.) One time they’d returned with a red pull-cart, Blueberry asleep in it.

“Why not?” Bucky had said at the time. “It was for sale on some lady’s lawn. Five bucks, Steve. Bargain.”

So being out here without Bucky felt…strange.

Steve had become complacent.

Bucky had bad days, and no dog of immeasurable cuteness would cure that. It had just been so _long_. Bucky’s migraines were lessening and his anti-anxiety meds had definitely paved the way to fewer episodes and more freedom. Steve chewed his lip, waiting while Blueberry inspected a neighbour’s ceramic frog collection. The woman at 514 sure did love collecting inanimate amphibians. Her grass was littered in green ones, blue ones, glittery ones. Steve had read somewhere that it was human nature to collect shit. Bucky had opinions on ‘ugly shit’, though.

Steve shouldn’t have assumed Bucky was better. He had probably missed the signs. The night before, they’d had sex and sure, they hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary, but Steve could usually tell if Bucky was setting up for a bad night’s sleep. Had he overlooked something in his own stupid sex-haze? Steve knew he himself behaved like a love-drunk romantic teenager after sex, all clingy and sappy and slow. How could he be sure Bucky hadn’t already been on the precipice of a bad day/night?

Steve loped on behind Blueberry, whose butt wagged from side-to-side in lieu of a long tail. Steve wasn’t sure if she was _meant_ to have a nub for a tail, or if it was due in part to the ‘accident’ they’d found her in that fateful night.

Bucky had alerted him to the concept of tail _docking_ and, well, Steve had been forced to wrestle the laptop away from Bucky, lest he crush _another one._

Steve sighed.

“Girl, why’s Daddy having a bad day?”

Blueberry’s ears twisted his way, but she didn’t pause in her butt-waggle walk. She was on a mission.

Bucky was having a bad day because Bucky had been tortured with traumatic electro-shock therapy and brainwashing for most of his life, and under all the pain and suffering still, sometimes, thought he _deserved_ it. The whole Winter Soldier persona was something deeper than any average counselor could handle.

His therapist was, apparently, helping with that (not that Steve could get much more than Bucky’s word on that), but Steve was a skeptic in everything.

It physically pained him to see Bucky suffer. Some days it was a headache. Other days it could be a migraine, a fugue state or a violent episode. And sometimes, like today, Bucky wanted nothing to do with the world. He would just sleep, or pretend to, until hiding wasn’t an option when the apocalypse finally came round.

Blueberry paused to mark a spot, scratched at the concrete, then kept moving, like she owned the whole street. A couple teenage girls approached, and were all eyes on Blueberry, which worked out nicely for Steve. Bucky and he weren’t super invested in hiding their identities, but keeping a low profile meant they could live in the area longer, and it was a nice neighbourhood. The girls giggled and squeezed by, not even looking at Steve once. Bucky had said many times that having a dog meant folks only every noticed the pup, never the walker.

“Huh,” Steve said. “You’re like a smokescreen, kid,” he murmured, looking down at said pup.

Blueberry yipped, then scratched at her side with a back paw. Well, she tried to, but her legs were _very_ short and stubby. Bucky had laughed himself silly one day, watching Blueberry attempt to nip her own back paw. The dog looked like she was built of mismatched parts. A big head, oversized ears, a long-ish body and limbs that were more feet than leg.

Steve smiled softly.

He finished up the walk, taking them round the block and back home.

Once inside, Blueberry was unclipped and she dashedinto the kitchen.

Steve put his hat and sunglasses away, kicked off the flip-flops, placed them into the shoe organizer and eyed the mess of boots and sneakers Bucky always left in his wake.

It annoyed the hell out of Steve that they couldn’t interchange shoes, actually. Not that he particularly needed to, but having half a size larger feet than Bucky had been one of those weird serum changes neither had expected.

“Finally, feet big enough you can’t stuff ‘em in your mouth anymore,” Bucky had guffawed.

Steve tidied up the mess, pairing up Bucky’s shoes, putting them away, and taking his filthy leather boots into the kitchen.

Blueberry was slurping away at her water, set up in a small porcelain bowl with flying unicorns on it. Steve planted Bucky’s boots in the sink and turned to pull out the other med toolbox.

While the coffee heated up again and the bread toasted, Steve carefully counted out Bucky’s meds for the day. He added in one of the ‘bad day’ pills.

Bucky’s been on a medley of pills for ages now, his doc focused on maintaining doses and watching for bad interactions. One pair of pills had set up manic fidgeting and muttering and another bad interaction with alcohol hadtaught them a lesson on medicating before parties.

He buttered up six slices of toast, slathered them in marmalade, then poured out a coffee in Bucky’s favourite, ugly, handmade mug from the community centre school of kids pottery. He topped it up with cream and two sugars. As a last thought, he pulled down the sleeve of lemon cookies and piled a few onto Bucky’s toast plate.

He set everything on a tray and sighed.

“Come on, then,” he breathed and heaved the whole lot up stairs.

* * *

 

 

“Buck?” Steve gently pushed the bedroom door open.

The room was still dark, but the Bucky lump seemed to have rolled over at some point, the duvet still covering him completely.

“Hey,” Steve said, nudging the door closed a bit. “It’s time for your meds.”

Steve set the tray down on his side of the bed and eyed the lump.

“Buck? Sweetheart?”

The lump shifted.

Steve made a face. He gently pulled at the duvet. Bucky wasn’t holding on, so Steve was able to see him hiding under there.

Bucky’s hair was all over his face and he must have changed, put on clothes at some point in the night because he was wearing Steve’s NASA t-shirt.

Steve pushed at the dark strands, curling his fingers behind Bucky’s ear.

Bucky was frowning, eyes closed.

“Baby?” Steve said softly, “You wanna just sit up for me? Just for five minutes, then you can go back to bed, I promise.”

Bucky frowned harder and Steve could see the tension in his hunched shoulders.

“Please?” Steve pressed.

Bucky huffed out through his nose, but did open his eyes. They were red and his cheeks were flushed pink.

Steve’s heart deflated.

Bucky must have been up all night feeling this way and not saying a word.

“Come on,” Steve said. “Toast, coffee, cookies, meds.”

Bucky wiped at hisface with a rough palm, but did as he was told. He sat back against their Ikea headboard. This was their second bed, as their first one had collapsed under a heavy night of … well, that wasn’t important.

Steve’s chest felt tight, seeing Bucky like this. He was flushed, sweaty and obviously not feeling well.

“Is your stomach okay?” Steve asked, pushing more hair off Bucky’s face.

Bucky shrugged.

“Not good?”

Bucky shook his head.

Steve chewed on his lip. “You think you can handle breakfast?”

Bucky eyed the tray.

“Need meds,” he grunted unhappily. Bucky was under the impression that his medication was not for _his_ mental well-being, but for the rest of the world’s well-being. He seemed to think they protected everyone else from his madness, but Steve knew otherwise.

Steve counted out the meds and held up a slice of toast. Bucky leaned in, took a bite, and grumbled through it.

“Your head killing you?” Steve asked.

Bucky nodded, scowling. Steve kept feeding him because, hell, he wanted to.

Bucky gradually worked his way through the homemade ciabatta and butter/marmalade combination they’d found at a local farmer’s market. It was the first kind of jar jam that hadn’t made Bucky gag, so naturally, Steve had bought out the whole table.

Bucky chewed slower than a caterpillar traversing a leaf, but he did it.

He downed his meds, swishing back coffee to dull the bitter taste. He ignored the cookies.

Bucky leaned back and rubbed at his eyes.

“You want a hair tie?” Steve said, indicating the three on his own wrist. He was constantly finding the damn things all over the house.

Bucky shook his head. “Pulls my hair,” he murmured. He pushed at his scalp. “Makes my head hurt.”

Steve was sure he was wearing his sad eyes, but he couldn’t help it.

“Miss Thing enjoyed her walkies,” Steve said, slotting in beside Bucky and leaning back.

Bucky didn’t say anything.

“She’s getting bigger,” Steve went on. “I think her diet’s working. Not sure how big she’s supposed to get, but who knows, we might end up with a helicarrier for a dog.”

Bucky glared at Steve.

“She ain’t one of those things,” he grunted.

Steve tilted his head and smiled. “A Hulk for a puppy? We could buy her some purple shorts with a hole cut out for her butt?”

Bucky scowled harder. He was squinting, obviously lessening the amount of light that could get to him and make his headache worse.

“Well, she’s getting big either way,” Steve said. “Fat-bottomed girl. I heard that in a song.”

“You say that about everything,” Bucky grumbled. “You heard everything in a damn song.”

“You want some music?” Steve asked.

Bucky shook his head, already sliding down the bed like a sack of potatoes.

Steve wilted a little.

He could just make out the yips and yelps of their princess downstairs. It was a damn good thing she couldn’t climb the stairs.

“You want Blueberry?” Steve asked.

If Bucky didn’t want him, maybe he’d like a smaller visitor.

Bucky was silent for a moment, before shrugging. He was turning away, duvet falling over him.

Steve picked up the remnants of Bucky’s meal and headed back downstairs.

After putting everything into their fancy dishwasher that Pepper had insisted on as a gift, Steve scooped up Blueberry and carried her upstairs.

“Now, you gotta be nice,” Steve said into her fuzzy ear. “Daddy’s not doing so hot, okay? No barking.”

Blueberry licked at his nose and barked anyway.

She was a wriggler, so he held on fast as he locked the gate at the top of the stairs. Bucky would kill him if he came out of his funk only to discover their furry ward had bounced down the stairs ass-over-teakettle into a puppy pancake.

He reentered the bedroom, unsurprised by the duvet lump.

“Shhh,” Steve whispered. “Daddy’s sleeping.”

The room was quiet.

Blueberry yipped and wriggled harder. The lump shifted.

“Is Daddy in there? You smell Daddy?” Steve hissed louder. He plopped her on the bed and she went _wild._

She leapt all over the lump, yipping and rolling and tumbling around like a jackrabbit.

“Hey, calm down, you fuckin’ rascal,” Steve grabbed at her. She wriggled, dangling in his hands.

The lump under the duvet shifted and rolled. Bucky peeked out, scowl in place.

“Ta-da…” Steve said gently.

Bucky glared harder, but did seem to soften after a moment.

“C’mere, he said, voice gravelly, and lifted the duvet, so Steve could slide Blueberry under.

The ensuing excitement was made of a little bundle of joy romping around under the duvet, making little hills and valleys as she went, while Bucky just curled back under there with her, intent on hiding from the rest of the world.

 

 

A few hours later, after scrubbing Bucky’s boots clean and skyping anxiously with Sam, Steve checked in on his patient.

He was pleased to find that not only was Bucky fast asleep on his back, the pink flush gone from his cheeks, but there was a brown and white blob of fur splayed out on his belly.

Both Blueberry and Bucky were snoring, which only made Steve smile and heave a sigh of relief.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: rating has gone up

The problem with being a piece of shit sad-sack is that sometimes you gotta clean up the mess you made.

Bucky was familiar with the routine. Wake up, findSteve already showered, breakfast ready and fresh coffee on hand.

Then sit morosely in the kitchen and watch the sun reflecting off the leaves outside with the french doors wide open so he had something to stare at over his morning joe.

This morning was no different, except for the lump of fluff writhing around outside without a care in the world.

“Why’s she doing that?” Steve asked from behind Bucky, somewhere near the sound of the dishes being washed.

Bucky shrugged. “Because she can?” Lord knows if he could get away with romping around with the butterflies, he would.

He heard the kitchen faucet squeak off. He turned in his seat and caught Steve watching him. He was drying his hands, the breakfast dishes and pans already drying in the rack.

“Why don’t you use the dishwasher?” Bucky said, sipping his coffee and frowning.

Steve shrugged. “I don’t mind. It’s get done quicker if I do it.”

“Hmmm,” Bucky rumbled into his mug. It was misshapen and ugly as all hell and he loved it with the force of a thousand dying stars.

“Meds?” Steve asked.

Bucky nodded. Yes, he’d taken his meds with his breakfast because he knew better than to _not_ take them and even worse, take them without food.

“Good,” Steve dropped the drying cloth on the counter, all folded up neatly like he was still in the goddamn army. “I’m just gonna go tidy upstairs. You wanna take Blueberry for walkies?”

How they had transformed into grown men who use terms like ’walkies’ Bucky will never know. Blueberry was smart enough now to recognize certain words like her name. The use of the word ‘walk’ had quickly gone out the window whenever she’d lose her marbles over it.

“Nah,” Bucky said, standing and stretching. His osteopath keeps haranguing him about stretching every time he got up, be it from sleep or sitting. He thought the profession ‘osteopath’ sounded like a joke, some snake oil weirdness, until he met Daiya and her phenomenal hands.

“I’ll wait for you.”

“Okay,” Steve said, coming over to place a kiss on Bucky’s lips. Steve always goes out of his way to make sure Bucky gets at least one kiss a day, preferably before the world gets a crack at him. Sometimes, it screws Bucky up inside, being treated like this, but then again, he's a greedy bastard who wants those kisses as long as Steve’s willing to give them.

Bucky went outside to get Blueberry who was nibbling on her front paw. He picked her up and slung her into the crook of his arm so she could see where they were going. Steve turned when he noticed Bucky following him up the stairs. “You gonna help, champ?”

Bucky nodded.

“You don’t gotta,” Steve chuckled, rounding the top banister and heading into their bedroom. Bucky followed him into the dark room.

Steve went over to open the curtains. The slash of morning sunlight was harsh against the mess.

Bucky grimaced.

God, it looked like the room had deteriorated along with him. Stuff covered the floor and the bed was a massive wrinkly unmade mess. Mugs were lined up on Bucky’s bedside table whereas Steve’s was neat and tidy, onlya book to indicate someone slept there.

He stood there a moment and watched Steve fluff their duvet. How was this place ever going to be clean again? It was too daunting. When the duvet settled into place, Bucky placed Blueberry on top of it. She immediately walked her way across the cotton to go stare up at Steve, tiny nub of a tail wagging.

“Hi, sugarplum,” Steve crouched down to let her lick at his face.

“You always clean up,” Bucky murmured, frowning. “Why?”

“Huh?” Steve looked at him. He smiled while plumping a pillow in both hands. He laid it down at the top of the bed only to have Blueberry take a flying leap onto it.

“Were you always so tidy?” Bucky said and waved his metal hand around, “before?”

He could only just remember their small apartment and the dirty, faded walls and floors. He remembered Sarah Rogers’ place before that, even smaller and lacking a telephone in the building. Somehow that small room was clearer.

Their current home was always clean. It was dust-free, tidy and everything had a place. Steve cleaned up after every meal. He cleaned the living room all the time, folding blankets and lining up books neatly. He washed the windows when the weather was good. He scrubbed their tiny patio and he even polished the wooden stair treads.

“I don’t know how to do it,” Bucky murmured.

“Do what?” Steve came round the bed.

“Not…” Bucky dropped both hands to his sides. “Not be such a mess.”

He knew Steve would read it both ways. Bucky wasn’t super tidy and he also was a figurative mess, inside and out. Hell, he couldn’t even get his hair trimmed properly because of his dislike for scissors. He only let Steve cut itonce every few months because when his hair touched his shoulders, it got in the way of shit.

“Buck, I wasn’t clean before. We didn’t have enough stuff,” Steve said. “In fact, I might have been a slob.”

“So how do you clean?” Bucky asked.

Steve sighed. “SHIELD,” he murmured, cocking a brow.

Bucky frowned.

“They taught me,” Steve continued, turning back to the job at hand. “They had to.”

“Why?” Bucky asked, watching Steve bend down to pick up a stray spoon.

“Because,” Steve huffed. “I didn’t come out the ice rarin’ to go, Buck. It was…it was hell for a while.”

Bucky went over to pick up Blueberry from her spot burrowing into the mattress. He held her close, pressing her head under his chin.

Steve picked up a few books that had slid under the bed frame. He dropped them on the bed and walked round to the other side.

“When I got my own room at HQ, it became apparent really quickly that I was a mess of a guy. I didn’t know where to put stuff, I couldn’t keep my room clean to save my life and on top of that, I was falling apart inside.”

Steve didn’t talk much about his first year out of the ice.

“I think it surprised folks,” Steve said. “They thought I was this prim army kid who could cinch a sheet like a drum; That I ironed my own clothes, that I always combed my hair, or whatever.

“It really was hell, Buck,” Steve went on, plopping a pair of shoes, a selection of random socks and a couple candy wrappers on the bed. Jesus, Bucky knew there were more wrappers down there, too.

“So one of the techs there thought it best to teach me cleaning, like some real simple coping strategy.”

“Really?” Bucky was surprised by this.

“Yup,” Steve hefted Bucky’s dirty laundry onto the bed.

“Seems it helps organize people’s minds, you know? If you can keep your safe spot clear of clutter, your brain sort of relaxes.”

“That sounds like something else,” Bucky said into Blueberry’s fur. “A whole other problem.”

“Maybe,” Steve shrugged, “But it helped me.”

“So how does this work?” Bucky asked. “How is this not overwhelming you?” Because he felt sick every time he came upon any messy room he was expected to live in.

Maybe Steve was right. They had nothing growing up, so what was there to clean? Nowadays they had so much fuckin’ shit is was unbearable.

The kitchen alone had Bucky heaving, with its tubs of spoons and ladles and spatulas poking out of all the corners like deranged cuttlefish.

“Well,” Steve said, “To make my life easier, I gotta simplify the job down into sections. Step one: pick up everything off the floor. All of it. And dump it in one spot, like the bed.”

Bucky eyed the pile of crap on their nice cotton sheets.

“Seeing the floor really helps,” Steve went on. “It’s like the room exists now.”

“Uh huh,” Bucky plopped Blueberry on the bed so she could stick her face into one of his shoes.

Steve chuckled and went into their bathroom.

He came back with a plastic bag.

“Step 2: garbage bag in an easily accessible spot. You dig through the pile on the bed and chuck the garbage out. You see a wrapper on the floor, just put it in here.”

Steve did as he said and pulled out anything that needed to be tossed.

“Then,” Steve said,”you gotta separate the laundry shit. Socks and stuff here.” He patted the bed’s edge.

Bucky moved closer and picked up a sock. He gave it to Steve, who just laughed.

“Great contribution, Buck.”

“You’re welcome.”

Steve pulled apart the pile of crap on the bed and sorted it into piles. Downstairs stuff, like Bucky’s shoes, went in one pile. Kitchen stuff went into another. Trash and laundry into their own areas.

“Then we put the laundry away,” Steve carried the pile of clothing over to the basket with wheels and dumped the lot inside. Bucky felt faintly irritated with himself because instead of just putting his crap right in there the first time, he’d just thrown it on the floor like an animal. That’s what depression does to him, he guessed. Steve didn’t call it laziness. He had other, kinder words.

“So we take this stuff down?” Bucky.

“First,” Steve said, “We tidy the rest.”

He went about fluffing the curtains so they fell in straight lines. Then he redid the bed, fluffed the pillows and piled up the books Bucky had accumulated on his side of the bed. He picked up Bucky’s mess of hair ties and stashed them in the bathroom cabinet, where the rest of the hair supplies were hidden.

“Okay, you wanna help carry?”

Bucky nodded and picked up the pile of downstairs crap and the trash bag. “Can you get Blueberry?”

Steve complied easily, bending to loop an arm under their rambunctious animal. The kitchen crap he tied up in a towel and was able to carry it all in one hand, the dog in the other.

By the time Bucky had put his shoes away and met up with Steve in the kitchen, he was itching for the outside.

“You wanna go for a run?” Bucky said.

Steve eyed him archly and Bucky smiled.

It was still funny. Apparently people thought Steve liked running, that jogging around the neighbourhood made him feel good.

What they didn’t know was that Steve _hated_ it. He only did it in Washington because he couldn’t sleep, had no friends and was desperately lonely.

The serum didn’t require fitness. It rebuilt all the body’s systems and cells automatically. What it _needed_ was food. Constantly. Sustenance was required to run all the processes.

When Bucky had moved in with Steve, the two of them finally felt comfortable enough to eat the crazy portions their stupid metabolisms cried out for.

“You wanna go get lunch?” Bucky said. Steve stared at the kitchen clock hanging above the sink. “Okay, snack?” Bucky adjusted.

“Sure,” Steve said, grinning. “Want to go pick up our little goddess? She needs walkies.”

“Roger that,” Bucky saluted and went on the search for Blueberry.

He found her outside again, romping in the bushes. She seemed to have found some bug to harass and was barking at its audacity to exist.

“C’mere, pumpkin,” Bucky sighed. “Walkies.”

Her massive ears perked up like satellites and she spun about.

Bucky grinned, “Walkies?” his voice rose ever so higher.

Blueberry began yipping and twirling on the spot, her excitement bubbling over.

“C’mon,” Bucky slapped his thigh and walked back inside. Blueberry leapt after him, tripping over the French door entryway, but righting herself with a shake and a lolling tongue.

The two of them met Steve by the side door. He had the harness ready and waiting.

Once outside, the three of them meandered slowly down the sunlit street.

“It’s so quiet this time of year,” Bucky murmured.

“School’s out I guess,” Steve said, glaring at the sun.

They followed one of their standard routes down to the main intersection and across, Blueberry tugging at her leash like an excited child. They trailed down the sidewalk, idly talking about dinner and groceries and the crack in the paving out the front of their house.

“We could call in a professional,” Steve was saying.

“Or we could fix it ourselves,” Bucky said. “Not like we got anything else to do.”

“We have things to do,” Steve said. “We can get into Manhattan, go see Tony. Sam wants a visit too.”

Bucky eyed Steve from under his baseball cap. “You’re an idiot. I don’t know why we hang out.”

Steve grinned and leaned in close, pressing his nose to Bucky’s ear. “It’s because you _love_ me,” he said all gooey and gross.

“God,” Bucky shoved Steve away, “You’re terrible.”

Steve just grinned and continued walking beside him, chipper as ever.

* * *

Bucky laid out their snack stash on the kitchen island.

He rated the coffee shops and bakeries in the area on a new scale. Before, it was whether or not their food made him sick and on what level. Do the bagels make him throw up, and do the cookies have over-processed flavours and preservatives?

They’d sampled all the bakeries in the neighbourhood and shortened the list substantially after only three months.

Now, however, he rated the institutions on how they treated Blueberry. One place, the owner had yelled, actually _yelled_ at them for bringing a dog inside his store.

Sure, Bucky understood hygiene and allergy issues, but Jesus, pal, _calm down._

Steve had actually taken his cap off that time and given the guy a real good talking-to Captain America style. The owner’s horrified, embarrassed disbelief had made it easier for Bucky to not use a cookie-cutter on his stupid face.

“So we got two chocolate muffins,” Bucky counted. “Four banana loaf slices. A bag of mixed donut holes, some random cheesecake made from oats, two massive pretzelsand two coffees.”

“And one satisfied lady,” Steve laughed, looking down at Blueberry and her fat belly. She was standing, looking up at him, her sides rounded, looking not unlike a corndog.

Bucky’s new system took into account whether or not the bakery would allow Blueberry inside and if not, what treats she could get for being cute.

At Bucky’s new favourite joint, the girl behind the counter always lost it when she saw Blueberry sitting outside. She consistently added in extra dry biscuits and scones for their silly little dog, telling him and Steve how lucky they were to have such an adorable fluff-ball. Bucky was reticent at first to let her pet Blueberry, but she clearly meant well, so he allowed it and she got to keep her baker’s hands.

“Don’t forget the glazed cinnamon rolls,” Steve said, poking his nose into Bucky’s business.

“Get your face out of there,” Bucky hissed. “Go sit outside.”

“Aw,” Steve made a pouty face.

“Out,” Bucky commanded.

Steve sighed and looked down at Blueberry, “C’mon darlin’, Daddy’s had enough of us.”

The two of them headed outside, Steve chuckling at the way Blueberry struggled to get her fat belly over the door’s lip

Bucky pulled out one of Steve’s ugly metal trays with the curlicued handles and mirrored bottom. It was scratched and probably came from the Napoleonic era, but Steve loved it. Steve loved a lot of old crap.

Bucky unpacked all the snacks and laid them out like a real fancy lady. He put the donut holes in a bowl and carefully unwrapped the cheesecake. He put a massive slice on one plate and an even larger slice on another. He squeezed the rest onto the tray, along with the coffees, and carried it outside.

Steve was sitting in the one spot of shade out at the back of their yard.

Bucky put the tray down on their small metal table and glared at Steve.

“Come here and eat, you asshole,” he said.

“Can you believe this?” Steve said to Blueberry, who was snuffling at a dandelion. She followed him over to Bucky.

“Sit,” Bucky ordered.

“Hungry, huh?” Steve laughed.

“Always,” Bucky said.

“What’s that?” Steve pointed to the extra mug on the tray that had a spoon inside it.

Bucky grabbed it and held it close. “My chocolate.”

They’d had fresh gourmet chocolate in for once and Bucky’s mouth salivated every time he thought of the fresh, dark sweetness he loved and always missed so much.

“Did you melt it?” Steve cocked a brow, taking a slice of banana bread and basically shoving it into his gaping maw.

“Fuckin’ _chew_ , Steve,” Bucky said. “You choke and I leave you to die and inherit your fat stacks.”

“Fat stacks, huh?” Steve said around a full mouth.

“And yes, I melted the chocolate in the microwave, so sue me.” Bucky scooped out a spoonful of warm, soft chocolate.

“You know,” Steve murmured, “If you looked at me the way you looked at that, I bet we’d never leave the bedroom, Buck.”

“You ever get your dick to taste like chocolate and I’ll consider it,” Bucky said, taking the spoonful into his mouth. He closed his eyes, enjoying the sweetness blossoming on his tastebuds.

“That’s gotta be bad for your teeth,” Steve said.

Bucky hummed round his favourite food. “Doesn’t matter, they’re not my teeth anyway.”

“What?” Steve’s voice did not sound amused.

Bucky opened his eyes and found Steve staring, brow furrowed.

“What?”

“Bucky,” Steve leaned forward, “Are you serious?”

Fuck, there was always something that came up, wasn’t there?

“Not like they’re other people’s teeth,” Bucky said. That didn’t seem to be helping because Steve’s eyes got all dark and sad. “I mean,” Bucky put his mug down, “They’re like, porcelain replacements or something. Fake teeth. Drilled in.”

Steve stared back at him, horrified.

“Bucky…”he breathed.

Something bumped into Bucky’s ankle. He looked down and found Blueberry pawing at his jeans. He bent over and heaved her into his lap. She was more interested in the tray of treats than their conversation. Bucky liked her furry warmth.

“It’s fine, Steve,” Bucky sighed, “Don’t freak out.”

Steve’s mouth made a straight line across his face. “I didn’t know that,” he murmured.

Bucky was sick and tired of Hydra still fucking up his life. It was things like this that kept cropping up, kept ripping through the fabric of his quiet city life.

“Just forget it,” Bucky said, lifting Blueberry up so he could smell her fur. She wriggled and turned to lick his nose. She was so sweet sometimes, it made Bucky’s heart ache.

Steve was quiet, so Bucky looked up.

He was watching them with soft eyes, probably resigned to Bucky’s inability to talk about this shit. That was what therapy was for. Steve was for happy things like food and movies and sex. Steve wasn’t meant for Bucky’s messed up head and fucked up scars.

“Just a reminder,” Steve said softly.

Bucky blinked.

“I love you,” Steve said, like he did most days. “No matter what.”

Bucky couldn’t help the warmth in his chest.

“I know.”

* * *

It was the week of Blueberry’s next shots and it all went smoothly, thank god.

“My little superstar,” Bucky cooed and kissed her on top of her head before setting her back down. He hooked her harness on the coatrack by the side door.

“She’s doing so well, Buck,” Steve said, toeing off his sneakers. “Dr. Wen was really impressed.”

“I bet she thought we’d mess up,” Bucky said.

“Maybe,” Steve murmured, following Blueberry into the house.

“Well, we showed them!” Bucky called after him. It was early afternoon and everything had gone along swimmingly. “She put on weight, her fur’s growing in and her eyes are clear.”

“Organ results were good too,” Steve added. “Remember how we were worried about her tiny liver?”

Bucky went into the living room, flush and happy. Steve was laid out on the sofa, Blueberry hopping up and down on the floor beside him. Steve was chuckling at her struggle to get up.

She yipped and wiggled around like a jitterbug.

“Aw, sweetheart,” Bucky sighed.

“Yes?” Steve looked up.

Bucky snorted. “Her, not you.” He said and went over to hoist Blueberry onto Steve’s chest.

She immediately jumped away and Steve winced and gasped when she nailed his crotch.

“Goddamn,” Steve wheezed.

Bucky laughed while Blueberry rolled right off the sofa, defeating the whole point of the exercise.

Steve sat up. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Bucky said, smiling.

“Wanna make out?” Steve wiggled his eyebrows.

“Uh,” Bucky pursed his lips, “Not in front of the kid.”

“Okay,” Steve stood up and came up to Bucky. “Wanna make out upstairs?” he grinned wide, “Naked?”

Bucky felt himself flush, almost annoyed at how easy that was for Steve.

He huffed, “It’s the middle of the day, Rogers.”

Steve came in closer. God, he smelled so good. Bucky groaned.

“I get to see all of you in the daylight,” Steve murmured throatily. “Every last inch.”

“And I unfortunately would be forced to look at your hideous body,” Bucky said, but knew he was all red in the face.

Steve laughed and tugged at Bucky’s shirt. “Wanna?”

Bucky chewed his lip for a moment, then nodded sharply. Stevelicked his lips and took Bucky’s hand, leading him away.

“What about the dog?” Bucky said futilely, treading upstairs behind Steve.

“She still can't climb the stairs,” Steve said.

“But what if she hears us?” Bucky said.

“Never traumatized her before,” Steve said, leading Bucky into their bedroom.

“What?” Bucky said, “She could hear us?”

“She’s a dog, Buck,” Steve laughed and pulled him close. He pressed his forehead to Bucky’s. “She doesn’t care.”

When they stood like this, Bucky wrapped up in Steve’s warmth, sometimes it felt like they were one and the same. Bucky’s nerves and idiosyncrasies were meaningless in Steve’s arms. He was safe here, loved here.

Steve kissed his cheek, then bent for his lips.

It was always so good, kissing Steve. It lit Bucky up time and time again. He kissed back, harder, tongue searching.

“C’mon,” Steve pulled at him and they stumbled, falling onto the bed. The neat and tidy bed.

Bucky’s breathing was rough already, his dick excited for what was to come. Steve was already there, a hard line pressing into Bucky’s cock. The two of them struggled to kiss and undress one another without falling off the bed.

“Shit,” Steve gasped, reaching the edge and rolling back, covering Bucky with his body. He dragged his hands up Bucky’s torso and pulled his shirt off. Their jeans were all caught up around their thighs and Bucky laughed at the annoyed frown on Steve’s face.

“We got no finesse,” he said.

Steve smiled but made good work, getting Bucky’s legs free and then wriggling his own jeans down and off. Bucky’s pineapple palm tree briefs went flying and Steve’s blue boxer briefs joined them.

“You missed the laundry basket,” Bucky lipped at Steve’s mouth, his tongue playing dirty.

“You want me to stop?” Steve’s hands were all over Bucky.

“Shit, don’t you dare,” Bucky kissed Steve fully, dragging him down and pressing their cocks together.

Steve rumbled above him and rubbed himself against Bucky.

“What do you want?” Steve gasped, licking at Bucky’s jaw and nibbling the soft skin beneath his ear. Bucky shivered all over and wrapped his legs around Steve.

“Just like this,” he said, rocking up. Steve shuddered and kissed him again, perfectly willing, it seemed, to just rub one out against Bucky. They rolled around, laughing and kneeing each other.

“Stop,” Steve gasped, moving Bucky’s leg out of the way. “Let me.”

Bucky laughed and Steve pressed him down into the bed with his whole body. Bucky gasped when he felt Steve’s cock sliding between his ass cheeks. “Oh fuck, I changed my mind. Get in me, Rogers.”

Steve promptly fell off the bed with a yelp. Bucky burst out laughing. Steve’s red and flustered face reappeared nearby. “Laugh it up, asshole.” Bucky shoved himself up the bed with his feet and spread out.

“You’ll be back,” he chuckled, palming his own cock lazily. Steve’s eyes dropped to watch him. He licked his lip and clambered back onto the bed, heavy cock hanging between his legs. God, it made Bucky want him even more, seeing how turned on he could get.

Steve crawled over Bucky to the bedside table. He yanked open the drawer and dug around for a second. “God, yes,” he hissed and rolled back over. Bucky continued to pull at his dick. Steve watched him for a moment, enjoying the view.

“Hey,” Bucky kneed him gently. “You gonna help, or what?” Steve bent down and kissed him quickly. He situated himself between Bucky’s legs.

“Keep at it,” Steve murmured, nodding at Bucky’s hand. Bucky wasn’t one to argue, though he did shift when he realized Steve was loading up his fingers with lube to finger Bucky while he masturbated.

“Oh, jeez,” Bucky breathed shakily, feeling Steve pressing at him. He shifted his legs. Steve’s fingers were familiar and warm, pushing in, caressing. “Mhm,” Bucky huffed and shifted again.

“More?” Steve asked, eyes glazed. In the midday sun, Bucky really could see more of that pink flush that travelled down Steve's chest.

“Yeah,” Bucky grunted and opened his legs some more. He slowed his hand on his cock. Bucky watched Steve as he pushed in another finger.

They’d learnt really quickly that neither of them needed a lot of stretching or prep, but Bucky loved Steve fingering him open.

“Can I?” Steve pulled at his own cock. Bucky licked his lips, eyeing the pink head. So beautiful.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Bucky shifted.

Steve huffed out a breath and pulled his fingers free of Bucky’s ass. He jerked himself a moment longer, watching Bucky do the same. Then he got up, scooched in closer and folded himself over Bucky.

“Wanna make out?” Steve grinned, settling his hips nice and low, cock sliding smoothly right where Bucky needed it.

Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve’s ribs and grinned. “Treat me nice, Rogers, and I’ll think about it–” he gasped when Steve’s cock slid inside him, stretching him perfectly.

“Sorry, what was that?” Steve grinned. He was sweating too.

“Mnng!” Bucky growled and frowned, even as he shuddered.

Steve shifted, pushing himself all the way. Bucky’s breathing came fast and heavy. God, he loved this more than anything else. He loved Steve pinning him, deep inside, loving him. If he ever had to give this up, Bucky wouldn’t know what to do. “God, you make me so happy,” Bucky breathed out through gritted teeth.

Steve shifted, pulled out and pushed home again. “Uh…yeah?” The fucker was smiling like the mouse who got the cheese.

“Yeah,” Bucky shivered and pulled Steve’s face down to his so he could mash their lips together like teenagers. Steve rutted into him, his cock rubbing up inside Bucky making them both moan.

“More,” Bucky grunted, pushing back. His slipped his hands down over Steve’s rippling, massive back; down to the curve of his perfect little ass. Steve pumped into him faster. This wasn’t gentle lovemaking. This was horny make-outs in the middle of the day.

“Ahh,” Bucky almost bit Steve’s lip. “ _Yes,_ Steve.”

Steve kissed him anyway, wet lips and tongue all over Bucky. He always became a messy, sloppy kisser when he was balls-deep. “I love you,” Steve panted. He shoved into Bucky, his wet, lubed up dick sliding easily. “I love you so fucking much, Bucky. I never want to let you go.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky gasped, head lolling back. He felt Steve slam home over and over again. It was driving him mad.

“I want to fuck you and hold you and love you forever,” Steve gasped, licking at Bucky’s neck like he would find sustenance there.

“You better,” Bucky rasped, his body shifting on the bed, shunted by Steve’s hips. “You b-better always be there to fuck me good, Rogers. Else...else I’m gone.” Steve laughed. He shifted, curling both arms under Bucky, down to his lower back. Bucky’s head lolled and he felt his hips rise, get clamped to Steve’s thrusting hips. Bucky was big and heavy and fucked up, but Steve held him like he was nothing more than a wispy dame. Steve would be there to watch him, to take care of him because Steve fucking _loved him_. It was disorienting and wonderful and Bucky flushed with affection for the idiot.

Steve fucked him hard and steady and Bucky could feel all the lube and precome sliding down his back. He lifted his flesh arm and pulled at his own cock. “Oh god, Bucky,” Steve gasped, probably watching Bucky’s hand. The blood rushing in Bucky’s veins felt thunderous in his ears. He tightened his grip and jacked himself off, fingers slipping in his own precome. The two of them were like geysers when it came to bodily fluids which wasn’t all bad.

“S-Steve–” he stuttered, then, surprise, came all over himself.

“Oh Jeez,” Steve breathed and Bucky opened his eyes to find Steve, pink in the face, panting and watching Bucky’s come streak over his own belly.

“Nh!” Steve paused his thrusting.

Bucky felt so good, like he would melt through the sheets. “Why y’stop?” he slurred.

“Sensitive, no?” Steve panted, massive chest and tits heaving.

This was very nice of him. It was true that once either of them came, it wasn’t the best kind of fun to have a hard cock pressing against a sensitive prostate. Steve slipped his cock free and Bucky shuddered.

“Up here,” Bucky slurred, and pulled at Steve’s arm. “Fuck my face.”

“ _Bucky_ ,” Steve sounded scandalized.

Bucky rolled his eyes, “Okay, come make love to my mouth.”

“That’s not better,” Steve said.

“Yeah, it is,” Bucky said and pulled harder.

Steve was always nervous before this, but he never exactly ever said no.

So Bucky let Steve slip his dick inside his mouth, all embarrassed protests aside, and made sure Steve enjoyed every second of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this little fic! It's been a pleasure!


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